


Below the setting sun, beyond the rising stars

by allonsytastic



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Eventual Fluff, F/M, France - Freeform, Light Angst, Meddling TARDIS, Mutual Pining, Sunsets, sightseeing with ulterior motives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-21 14:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9552419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsytastic/pseuds/allonsytastic
Summary: The Doctor's finally made up his mind to tell Clara that he loves her. Things donotgo as planned.





	1. Preparation is key? - Preparation is cards!

**Author's Note:**

> So this first chapter is written from the Doctor's POV, but there will be some insight into Clara's POV later on. There are some incredibly minor adjustments to canon that you hopefully _either_ won't notice _or_ forgive me for ;)
> 
> This fic only exists because of a couple of comments on a drabble I wrote some weeks back, so _thanks_ to those who commented for getting me motivated to continue the story!

_This is it. Today is the day._

Today is the day I'm finally going to tell Clara that I love her. I've played through every possible scenario in my head and every single neuron in my mind agrees that it's the right thing to do - regardless of the fact that I'm scared to death of actually going through with it.

Much as I usually abhor planning, I can't deny that this situation calls for some careful preparation. And since I want every detail to be perfect, the final step is looking for the appropriate attire for the occasion.

That's why I'm taking a look at myself in a mirror I found stowed away in the depths of the TARDIS. To me, it always seemed like a weird habit, that obsession with one's appearance - but seeing as Clara has more than three mirrors in her bedroom alone, there has to be something to it. And so I turn left and right, inspecting my reflection as I'm trying out a new velvet coat. This one is of a stunning burgundy colour and the fabric is shimmering faintly in the warm glow of the console room. It's surprisingly light considering the heavy material and I suspect that it's not of human origin. Tereleptian, maybe... After all, who knows how all those clothes get into the TARDIS wardrobe in the first place...

I do a little twirl in front of the mirror because I've occasionally seen Clara do it and, well... who am I to argue with her? Especially when it comes to clothing - huans are quite peculiar in that respect. Which is why I absolutely want to look my best today.

_Should I put on my sonic shades?_ They complement my eyebrows and I love the rebellious air the combination gives me but I'm not trying to show off today. Very much the opposite, if I think about it. Today is not about hiding behind a pair of tinted glasses - even if they do happen to be exceedingly useful in all sorts of other situations.

In my last regeneration, back when I was still _bowtied_ and _fezzed_ , I kept telling everybody that my first rule was _'The Doctor lies'_. Now that the bowties have gone - exchanged for an electric guitar and a pair of shades - I like to think of myself as more of a rebel than I used to be before. And what sort of rebel would I be if I didn't break a couple of rules every now and then? So instead, today, _'the Doctor won't lie'._ No more evading the issue that's been keeping me up 24/7. _(or 35/17, in case you're from Tereleptos_ )

One last look in the mirror... Scouring my brain for any information regarding Clara's preferences in apparel, I opt to unbutton the collar of my shirt. I think I picked up the tiniest hint of a twinkle in her eyes the last time I did. It might have been wishful thinking, but now's not the time for self-doubt. _(Actuall, it very much **is** , but I'm not willing to admit that to myself)_

 

 

* * *

 

_"Clara?"_

I'm looking for her, checking he TARDIS kitchen _(there's a steaming mug of Earl Grey on the counter - she can't have gotten far)_ and her room _(the door's slightly ajar and there's light spilling out from inside, but it turns out to be empty)_. She's nowhere to be found.

I'm walking past the library and, glancing inside, spot my old acoustic guitar leaning against the section on 19th century English literature _(I like to think all the books are arranged in the intended order, but - knowing myself and the TARDIS - they're probably not)._ On a whim, I decide to pick up the instrument and take it with me. It's been some time since I last played it and feeling the familiar grip of the wooden shape evokes a sudden rush of nostalgia. I could play it tonight - Clara might like some of the ancient Gallifreyan melodies.

These old songs have a certain melancholy to them - the kind of wistfulness that is hard to put into words, especially in a tongue which is as rational and unfeeling as the high-Gallifreyan dialect adopted by the proud time lords that took over the Citadel during the last years of the time war. Back then, serenading was frowned upon - but here and now... well, who's to stop me?

 

* * *

 

 

I return to the console room, having resolved to wait for my companion instead of continuing on my search. Knowing the TARDIS, she'll have me going in circles rather than letting me stumble upon Clara before she's ready. The two of them had their differences at first, but by now... well, let's just say a lesser man might get jealous every now and then...

As I'm strolling up and down along the length of the room, pacing and periodically climbing the stairs to the gallery only to immediately climb down again in anticipation of Clara's arrival, I repeatedly recite all the steps of my plan to myself. It's not that it's a particularly complex plan, but it might just be one of my most terrifying endeavours.

There's three steps to it, each more challenging that the the one before:

  1.  Find a suitable location, possibly private and with the right level of romantic backdrop. I _do_ want to make my intentions clear, but I can't exactly see Clara enjoying the kind of kitschy over-the-top setting you tend to see in those schmaltzy sunday afternoon romances.
  2. _Words!_ You know how Clara got me that stack of cards for tricky social situations? Well, I didn't find any for this sort of occasion, but then again, it would feel like cheating not to use my own words. And this part is _crucial_ , I _have_ to get it right. So I went ahead and made myself some additional cards specifically for this day. _(Believe me, I've been around for a while, but I don't know that I've ever spent so much time on a couple of sentences as I have on these. I have no idea how much paper and ink I went through before finally deciding on the wording, but I'm not sure if there are any more writing supplies left aboard the TARDIS)_
  3. _Wait_



The first part is pretty much done and - apart from the tiny hint of worrying doubt that accompanies this whole affair - I'm actually quite pleased with my choice. You see, I found a beautiful spot in southern France, a tiny secluded village on the coast with the most magnificent harbor. The quay is filled with an array of tiny fishing boats - none resembling the other, each an unique individual with its very own design and backstory. In the evening, when they're all towed up in a neat row - slightly swaying next to each other with the rhythm of the incoming waves, it seems like the sea is choreographing its very own lullaby.

The town itself is made up of clusters of colourful tiny houses, an intricate net of alleys interwoven in between. There are rows of palm trees along the harbor and seagulls are flying high above, keeping watch of the hustle and bustle in the streets. At dusk, as the sun slowly sets over the French countryside and night inches ever closer, the whole village is illuminated in a wondrous golden glow, streaked by the elongated shadows of the palm trees.

 

When it comes to the cards, well... I don't really need them to remember what I'm trying to express, I've long since memorized the words. _(Two sentences, 40 words, 158 letters and 40 spaces in between - each imprinted onto my cortex for eternity)_. But as I'm pacing through the TARDIS console room and waiting for Clara, I can feel the nervousness creeping up again.

The closer I get to the moment of my confession, the closer I get to this inevitable bright spot in my timeline - the more it feels like these cards are all that's keeping me sane. I'm holding on to them, the paper beginning to crumble as I turn them over once more to stare at the words. I've taken them out of my coat pocket so often - checking that I haven't lost them withing the past thirty seconds - that the material is beginning to split at the edges, worn out by the constant handling.

 

However, the step in my plan which _really, properly terrifies me_ , is the third.

_Waiting_.

Thinking of all those times I defied villains and saved planets with nothing but a speech, you might think that I pride myself in my eloquence. But there are no words to express how excruciating even the thought of that moment right after my confession is. No words for the agony that might be bestowed upon me for however long it takes - waiting for her answer.

 

I'm torn from my frantic contemplation by the sound of footsteps approaching the console room. Within the fraction of a second, my mind is cleared of the confusing jumble of hope and dread as my focus shifts. I don't think there's anything particularly different to her apparel or demeanor today - maybe it's just my anticipation of what's to come - but when Clara steps into the room, she seems radiant.

_"So, where have you landed us this time, Doctor?"_

I smile at her enigmatically, rather than risking to show any signs of nervousness by floundering as I try to answer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next stop: France!_  
>  Not exactly where the Doctor intended to go, though.


	2. Accidental Tourism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, my knowledge of Paris is very limited. I tried to get the basics right, but if you find any errors, feel free to correct me :)  
> Nevertheless, I hope you'll have fun with this chapter (It's from the Doctor's POV, again) :)

I'm opening the doors of the TARDIS in anticipation of a sunlit panorama of the French coast, but am unexpectedly faced with a spacious marble hall - the walls of which are lined with paintings by the great masters from various centuries of human history and the occasional statue. My heart falters in my chest and I curse myself for not checking the TARDIS' monitors before stepping out.

As I turn to rush back inside and correct my mistake, the TARDIS sends me a telepathic note. More of a hunch than anything but it seems she's meant for us to be here. I direct a slightly bewildered look at the ceiling, one eyebrow raised in confusion, and she responds with an amused twinkle. It's almost as if she's winking at me. I concede and venture back outside, only to be met by an enthusiastic Clara, who very nearly runs me over in a hug.

_"Doctor, this is the Louvre, isn't it? Oh, I've always wanted to go! You really are the best!"_

 

We end up spending the day in Paris, walking down the Champs Elysees towards the Arc de Triomphe and back, visiting the Notre-Dame. _(There's an army of tourists queuing in front so we don't go inside - but I tell Clara of how I more or less accidentally inspired one of the gargoyles that's now looking down at us from the facade)._

It's cold outside, early December, and there's a fierce wind blowing through the streets but the sky is clear and the bright sunlight makes up for the chill. We stroll along the banks of the Seine, passing by the Bouquinistes and stopping every now and then to take a look at some of the displays. Clara stumbles upon a beautiful print of the Parisian skyline and I manage to gather enough appropriate currency from the bottom of my multidimensional pockets so that she can buy it for her gran.

It's not what I had planned, but it's the _City of Love_ , after all, right? That has got to be a a good sign.

And yet, though we do pass several spots that would lend themselves to grand romantic gestures, none of them seem entirely right for me to make my confession. On a few instances I catch myself reaching for my cards, a light tremble passing through my fingers at the prospect of finally admitting to my feelings... But whenever I get close to doing it, I'm stopped in my tracks by some distraction - a bird squawking from the trees above, a car honking angrily in the street, a dog barking at me from the other side of the road. They seem like minor irritations compared to the significance of my intention, but every time I hesitate, I realize that it's better to wait for the perfect opportunity and I decide to hold on to my original plan of a sunlit harbor in an enchanting little countryside village.

And so the cards remain - for now- safely stowed away in the inside pocket of my velvet coat.

 

* * *

 

 

Our - admittedly slightly chaotic - tour of the city eventually leads us to the Eiffel tower, which is truly magnificent even from below. Standing beneath it, right below the central column and between the four enormous pillars that support it, we're admiring the interlocking pattern that makes up the strucure.

Spotting a crepe stand nearby, Clara decides that it would practically be an insult to the French culture to visit Paris and not try an original Parisian crepe and heads off in its direction.

As I'm waiting for her to return, strolling around the base of the tower and trying to estimate how much paint it would take to colour it TARDIS-blue - I sense a slight telepathic flicker at the back of my head. I turn around looking for its origin, but there is no obvious source. Flicking out my sonic screwdriver, I scan the area, amplifying the psychic field, and - sure enough - there is some telepathic disturbance emanating from the grass verge right next to me. As I walk towards it, I can feel a telepathic link being established and - judging by the emotions that are being projected through it - whatever creature I'm about to encounter seems to be quite terrified.

I slowly bend down on one knee and gently part the bushes in front of me, careful not to disturb or startle anybody who might be hiding in the undergrowth. Upon brushing away a tuft of grass, I'm met with the most heartbreakingly desperate look you can imagine, from the eyes of a furry little creature that you'd probably describe as half-panda, half-kitten. It's about the size of a beagle, has thick purple fur and is definitely not from this planet or galaxy. I'm not even sure if it's in the right time or if it's a time traveler just like Clara and me.

Before I can reach out and introduce myself, however, the sudden bark of a passing dog sends my new acquaintance into a scared frenzy and he hurries off through the grass. I immediately take chase, but he is a speedy little fellow and as he runs off, the psychic link grows weaker. Racing after him - sprinting across the square with the sonic screwdriver blinking and whirring audibly in my outstretched hand - I'm vaguely aware that the people all around are getting out their phones and taking pictures of me, sniggering at the crazy old man who's seemingly chasing thin air.

Meanwhile, the furry alien heads straight into a crowd of people queuing for the elevators to the top of the tower and I lose sight of him. Cursing inwardly, I adjust the settings on the sonic, modifying it to suit the creature's individual telepathic wavelength, and run another scan of the area. It takes a few moments but eventually I trace its signature to a group of smallish bushes about fifty yards away.

 

Clara, who's been watching the whole chase from afar, approaches me with a crepe in her hand and a questioning frown on her face.

_"Doctor, did you just meet a French alien? Right below the Eiffel tower?"_

_"Clara, **all** humans are alien to me, **not just the French.** The one I saw was neither, though. Looked a bit like the ones we met back in the Dougan constellation"_

I tell her about the short-lived encounter and point in the direction from which I'm picking up the amplified telepathic signal. Raising my index finger to my lips, I motion to her to quietly approach the spot while I'm stowing away the sonic in the back pocket of my trousers. Next, I'm taking off my coat, holding it in front of me as I slowly close in on the alien's hiding place. Crouching down in front of the shrubs, I glance once more in Clara's direction and - upon her nod - throw my coat over the bushes in a swift motion, covering greenery and alien alike.

Carefully wrapping the whimpering ball of fur in my coat, I pick up the alien fellow and introduce myself and my companion. _('Clara and the Doctor' - I really do like the sound of that)_ At first, we don't get much of a reply, but after a few minutes of gentle encouragement, our timid acquaintance tentatively uncurls and considers us - blinking at us with first one, and then both his eyes.

They still don't talk, but the telepathic feedback I'm getting is now stronger than before and they're transmitting somewhat of a mixture of hesitant trust and comfort instead of fear. Clara, however, doesn't need the psychic feedback to immediately grasp the situation. She instinctively starts to talk to the creature in a soothing voice - drawing its attention to herself and away from the hectic hustle of people around us, which seems to be the cause of its distress.

 

It shouldn't surprise me to find UNIT arriving at the scene soon afterwards, seeing as they have developed increasingly efficient alien detection technology over the past years. Not quite advanced enough to bypass a TARDIS' chameleon circuit yet, but then again - they probably won't need to.

We're being informed that the alien we just met is part of a larger group who mistakenly landed on earth and have identified themselves as  _Bouganites_. The name rings a bell and taking another look at my new-found alien friend I realize why I didn't recognize the species. The Bouganite I'm carrying around (still wrapped in my velvet coat) is only a child - or barely at the start of adolescence: It's still missing the fangs of an adult and carries purple fur unlike the grown-up's characteristic deep blue colour.

Most of the stranded Bouganites have been brought in to the local UNIT bureau to wait for a transit shuttle back home, but the one I'm carrying around in my coat seems to have evaded the search parties. He does seem quite scared of being picked up by strangers and the only way of convincing him to be taken back to UNIT headquarters (so that he can be reunited with his travel mates) is to let him keep my coat - which he seems to have annexed as his personal snuggle blanket. And so he remains rolled up between the velvety layers, only occasionally taking cautious glances from below and bidding his farewell telepathically as he is taken away to safety by the local UNIT staff.

Clara and I share an amused chuckle as we wave him goodbye. Her expression soon changes to concern, though, as she considers my now un-coated figure.

_"Doctor, it's **December** , you'll freeze to regeneration without your coat."_

_"Nah, you know me - superior time lord physiology!"_

I counter her skeptical look with a self-satisfied grin but nevertheless pull a knitted cap from one of my multidimensional trouser pockets - just for good measure. It's TARDIS-blue and has a fluffy pompon on top, which is quite fitting because this regeneration simply won't  do without some fluff on top of my head.

 

* * *

 

 

After our little 'stunt', the Eiffel tower is closed down for the rest of the day _(UNIT insist on searching the area for more Bouganites)_ and we're deprived of the opportunity of climbing it. _"Well then we'll just **have** to return to Paris someday"_ , I tell Clara, realizing that there actually is an even better spot to watch the sunset than the city's metallic landmark and inviting her to follow me.

As dusk sets in, we reach the Montmartre, climbing the steps to Sacre Coeur Basilica until we're at the uppermost platform, right in front of the monument. The city of Paris is spread out below us - more and more lights flickering on each moment, mirroring the stars appearing above as the sun sets and the sky turns from sapphire to amber, to ruby and then to black.

It truly is breathtaking.

 


	3. Radiator Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter! :) This time from Clara's POV.

_What a day._

If I didn't know any better- _(and I don't_ _)_ \- I'd say the Doctor is up to something. It's been hard to miss, actually - the constant fidgeting, the even-more-than-usual-abstractedness, the on-and-off nervous tremble in his hands which he seems to have cultivated over the span of a day - the signs are manifold. He's been overly aware of his surroundings _(twitching at the bark of a dog or at the horn of an approaching car)_ and at the same time even more erratic than ever.

However, what intrigues me most is the destination of today's trip. _Paris._

He's always avoided Paris in the past, brushing off every proposal of visiting it as if the pure mention of the name was hitting a sore spot. I never knew _why_ , but I'm starting to suspect that he was afraid it would be too suggestive if he ever took me here. To the _City of Love_.

Because - let's face it - it _is._ _Suggestive._

I ponder the notion for a while but then let it go. Wishful thinking can be dangerous, especially in this respect.

 

Paris is marvelous and the Louvre is just as magnificent as I'd imagined it. I'd worried about leaving the TARDIS behind in the middle of an exhibition, but it seems this is not the first time the Doctor's managed to land in the middle of an internationally acclaimed museum. He whizzes back into the TARDIS, takes a few strides through the console room and up the gallery, rummages through a couple of drawers and finally whips out a tiny piece of paper.

He reads it, nods approvingly and - after we step outside our box and into the Louvre again - attaches it to the TARDIS' exterior. According to this so-affixed label, interested visitors to the museum can now identify the TARDIS as a sculpture form the late 31st century by an unknown artist.

I briefly consider telling the Doctor that even the most pudding-brained of tourists might take issue with a piece of art being _from the future_ but decide against it. Besides, he's probably right. As long as there is a label, people will accept anything.

 

We spend the better part of three hours in the exhibition, but after a while I notice the Doctor growing restless. He seems uncomfortable amidst the crowds of frantic tourists in a confined space - and even though he tries his best to hide it from me, I know him too well not to realize. He insists that we should stay, but I strongly suspect that he's just holding up for my sake and convince him to take a stroll through the city instead.

And so that's what we do. We promenade along the banks of the Seine, we go see the Arc de Triomphe and the Notre-Dame. We _try_ to do some sightseeing at the Eiffel Tower but end up causing an alien incident instead.

I'm telling you... you leave that man alone for _five minutes_ to get a Crêpe - and he manages to dig up an alien right in front of the Eiffel Tower. It would be exceedingly annoying, if that wasn't exactly what I love about him.

I'm a little sad to see his burgundy coat go, though. I'm usually not much of a velvet person but he _really_ knows how to wear a velvet coat. And I'm not entirely convinced that he's not freezing without it. Got to keep an eye out for that. Still, the new knitted cap is a plus. I love the colour and the ponpom - this regeneration simply won't do without some fluff on top of his head and I think the Doctor knows it.

 

After the whole Eiffel-Tower-incident, the Doctor leads me through the streets of Paris, promising me the perfect view of the sunset. At first, I can't figure out where he's going, but after a while I realiize we're heading for the Montmartre, specifically the Sacre Coeur.

It _is_ the perfect spot. We're sitting atop the stairs up to the Basilica, watching the city. Time passes by unnoticed and by now it's long past sunset. The tourists have scattered, back to their hotels or back to the heart of the city for a night-time tour of the clubs and bars. There's the faint sound of a street musician playing a midnight ballad on his guitar from somewhere below us and every now and then a lonely wanderer passes us by - but apart form them, we're alone.

It grows cold and I withdraw into the thick material of my trusty winter coat. I brought it along from _Fobar_ , a planet of (near-) eternal winter, where the merchant guaranteed me that it would fend off the cold at temperatures _'beyond petty human imagination'_ (as he put it). But even so, the cozy warmth it's been providing all day is fading by the second. I glance over at the Doctor - he's got to be bloody freezing sitting there in the cold winter night with nothing but his shirt and waistcoat. Shuffling closer, I extend one arm, wrapping it around his thin shape and huddling up next to him.

 

I's ridiculous, really. Because here I am, freezing below layers and layers of my Fobarian coat while he seems to be giving off heat like a radiator. I don't recall him having a particularly high body temperature - in fact, his skin is usually rather cool to the touch - but for some reason he is heating up right now. I consider him critically, checkiing if the heat is in fact a fever or sign of a cold setting in, but when he notices my questioning look he just shrugs and refers once again to his _'superior time lord physiology_ _'_. Maybe there's something to it after all? Either way, the cold doesn't seem to get to him.

As he realizes that I'm not quite as resistant to the lowering temperature as he is, he huddles up even closer and gets a pair of mittens and a second knitted cap from his pockets. The cap matches his own in bot hcolour and fluffiness and the mittens seem to be made from some incredibly soft fur. He wraps me in a hug, transferring as much heat as possible and generally makes for a pretty good personal heating system.

(Got to keep that in mind for the next winter in London.)

And so we stay. Sitting on the steps in front of the Sacre Coeur in our matching set of TARDIS-beanies, enveloped in a tight hug. While there has been an increase in physical contact over the past months, this certainly constitutes a new level. I might go as far as to call it intimate if there weren't still about three inches of Fobarian coat separating us. _And_ if this wasn't purely a measure to keep me from freezing to the spot. Which I'm trying to convince my brain to interpret it as.

Which I'm _failing_ to convince my brain to interpret it as.

It's just that I could really get used to those long hugs, regardless of temperature. Right now, I'd happily give up on soufflés forever, if I could get a lifetime supply of Doctor-hugs instead. Or more.

Should I tell him? _That I love him?_ I could take a chance, right here and now. In the streets of night-time Paris, the pavement barely lit by the glow of the streetlights. And yet, I feel like I've told him so many times before - never in words or out loud but in everything else - that it seems almost redundant to do so now. Even if I did decide to, _I feel like mere words could not possibly reflect the entirety of my emotions._

I'm not just saying that because I'm trying to avoid confronting the Doctor about my feelings. I'm saying it because I think it's true. There are just no words for this singular, emotionally confusing constellation of two beings in the universe that are -  _the Doctor and I._

I could never resist books. Not since the day I learned how to read. But never - not in any of the great romantic classics nor in any of the books I picked up along the way _(treasured copies of novels that, having gone out of print ages ago, can only be found stashed away in your gran's attic - or the occasional find on an afternoon garage sale)_ \- have I read anything even remotely fitting for the things I want to express to the Doctor. So I stand by what I said: _Mere words cannot possibly reflect the entirety of my emotions._

And I know that - most of the time - the Doctor prefers to leave things unsaid.

Because that's what it is. _Unsaid_. There is a mutual understanding of what the Doctor and I mean to each other and I've never doubted it. He doesn't need to confirm what I already know. I'm not going to force him to make some kind of admission to me just so I can feel validated. I know he often feels uncomfortable and insecure putting his emotions into words. And I respect his decision if he prefers to remain silent on the matter.

I glance over at the Doctor and catch him smiling at me, ignorant of my inner turmoil. I smile back and resolve to just enjoy the moment instead of fretting over what I should and shouldn't say. This _is_ a pretty amazing hug after all.

 

As the lights in the flats below us slowly fade, we decide to move on. We head home to the TARDIS, sonic-ing our way back into the Louvre. Paris is plunged into darkness, but our day is not over yet. There's still time for a small detour before this trip ends.

 


	4. Of Dusk and Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one! :)  
> This one's from the Doctor's POV.  
> 

Another try. Another chance to get it right. _Or mess it all up._ I set the coordinates _(again)_ and start the materialization sequence _(again)_ , hoping to reach my original destination this time.

As I open the doors of the TARDIS, I'm unsure of what to expect. To my great relief, the old girl has complied and brought us to the intended location - a beautiful French countryside village. It's just before dusk and I'm met with the warm glow of the evening sun. There's a light breeze going through the tops of the palm trees and the fishing boats are swaying slightly in the harbor. I'd set the TARDIS to land sometime in early autumn and so it's still warm outside, even at this hour.

I made it. _Finally_. Looking down the harbor, along the pier which is laid out right in front of us, I take a deep breath before stepping out of the TARDIS. I'm taking my guitar with me this time, throwing the strap over my shoulder and carrying it like a backpack. It'd still been leaning on the console panel when we set off from the Louvre and, having thus been reminded of my intention to play it for Clara, I won't forget it this time.

Taking a look out the TARDIS doors, Clara hesitates for a moment, shrugging off her thick winter coat before she follows me outside. She takes my hand - a gesture that has become second nature over time - and we take to strolling around the harbor aimlessly.

I wonder if she'll ask me _why_ I chose this spot to conclude today's trip but she doesn't. Maybe she doesn't need everything to be momentous and epic. Maybe there doesn't always have to be a reason to go somewhere. _Or to carry a guitar somewhere._

As we're passing by the pier once more, I suggest walking down to the water. By now the sun is setting, the horizon is painted red and the last rays of sunlight are reflected on the gentle waves of the sea. Granted, this whole trip didn't quite turn out as I'd planned but we eventually made it to where I hoped we would end up - watching the sunset in an enchanting little harbor on the French coast.

There's a worn-down wooden bench right at the end of the pier, beside the water, and I consider it - but then decide on the edge of the quay instead. I sit down on the planks, take off my shoes and roll up my trousers to dangle my feet in the water, inviting Clara to follow my lead. As she does, I realize that I haven't actually ever seen her bare feet before.

_Isn't that weird, considering how long we've been traveling together? It's not the thing you would actively seek out or necessarily expect to have seen - but when you think about it... it's odd not to know what your companions's feet look like, isn't it? It seems like such an arbitrary piece of information, something you would pick up along the way and yet, I never have._

I'm suddenly aware that I've been staring at her toes. She's wiggling them, creating tiny waves of her own to battle the incoming tide. Catching my gaze, she smiles at me, leaning back and enjoying every bit of sunlight left in this evening.

 

It's our second sunset for today and this time, I won't miss my chance. _I will play my cards right._

_.....The cards!_

A horrible realization sets in, and even as I make a futile attempt to reach for them - hoping against all reason that they will somehow be there - I know that my hand will find nothing but thin air instead of the reassuring stack of paper in the inside pocket of a velvet coat. _Because there is no coat. Because I left my coat with UNIT and the Bouganite back in Paris._

_No coat_ equals _no cards._ It's not a complicated concept, but right now I'm struggling to wrap my head around it. How could I possibly forget the integral item? I've suspected that I'm an idiot for some time now, but for the universe to confirm my suspicions in so ghastly a manner seems downright cruel.

I can practically see the scene playing on repeat in front of my mental eye. How I cooped up the scared Bougnite right below the Eiffel Tower. How he kept hidden in the velvety layers of my coat as I handed him over to UNIT staff for them to take him to safety - still wrapped in the burgundy fabric. The burgundy fabrid of my coat, which is now undoubtedly lying somewhere in the Parisian UNIT branch, the cards still safely stashed within. 

_I panic. Without my cards, I feel lost. It's not that I'd actually need them to remember what I'm trying to say. They're actually more of a safety net, or a good luck charm - whichever you prefer. It's just like with the stack of cards Clara gave to me - I can't always trust myself to say or do the right thing in social situations, but the cards never fail me. As long as I have my cards, things will somehow turn out alright. I know it's silly, but without them, my plan suddenly seems a lot less feasible._

 

I grab my guitar, trying to hold on to something, and - for lack of a better plan - start playing. It feels like an eternity since I last did, but my fingers still know the old songs, dancing over the strings with a delicate elegance that surprises myself probably more than it would anybody else. Miraculously, the instrument seems to be in tune even after all the time it spent waiting to be picked up again - and I'm startin to suspect the TARDIS of setting this up. Thinking back to this morning, I realize that the guitar was probably placed in the library for me to find, and that the TARDIS is the obvious culprit. _That meddling old time ship..._ I shake my head, grinning inwardly as a long-forgotten melody of the ancient time lords sounds across the sea.

Clara leans over - her shoulder against mine, her head settled in the crook of my neck. For a moment, I'm frozen in shock, every muscle in my body tensed as I reake my mind for the right response and I promptly miss the next chord. I can't _see_ her face from this perspective, but I don't need to. Clara's responding chuckle is evident in the soft motion of her chest. There's no heavy Fobarian winter coat to separate us this time and I'm suddenly acutely aware of my companion's heartbeat. Of the steady motion of her chest as she's breathing and of the rush of blood through her veins. My senses are hypersensitive to every aspect of her being and it is overwhelming.

The sun is almost set now and the sky is ablaze in a ruby colour. I slowly set down my guitar, the last chords softly fading away into the setting night. I gather up all the courage I have left within me. Neither of us say anything for a moment and the periodic murmur of the waves hitting the pier almost sounds like a crowd cheering me on. This is the moment. It is now or never.

 

_"ClaraIloveyou"_ , I gasp - the words cominig out in one continuous noise rather than a coordinated sentence.

I wanted to do it right. To look into her eyes, take her hands and gently pull her towards me. To proclaim my love with an even, steady voice. But instead I'm sitting here at the end of the pier, staring at the sea - my eyes fixed at the horizon and my feet nervously paddling in the water. My voice has gone hoarse and I'm not sure if the unintelligible gibberish I just forced out of my lips was even audible.

There's a moment of silence and I am completely incapable of moving as much as an inch, terrified of the progression of the story. I dare not look up in fear of being met with a pitiful expression on my companion's face. _What if i completely misjudged our relationship?_

 

_"Doctor, you don't have to do this if you don't want to."_

_"But I do. Clara, you **deserve** to be told."_

 

I turn to her, forcing myself to look into her eyes and improvise: _"Clara - I'd tell you that you are my 'sun and stars', but there is_ ** _so much more_** _out there. I'd tell you that you are the single most important being in the universe to me, but that wouldn't be going far enough. I could tell you so many things and - in the end - none of them would do you justice. I've been thinking about this for ages. **Literally.** Whichever way I look at it, I only ever come to the same conclusion... You know,  **'love'** seems like such a simple word - one syllable, four letters - and yet, I've never really understood its dimension until  **you** came along. Now I can't think of anything else."_

Instead of an answer, Clara just smiles at me, taking my hands and bringing them up to her face so that my index and middle fingers come to rest on her temples. _"I've seen you do this before"_ she tells me, tilting her head just the tiniest bit. _"You're a touch telepath, right? You didn't need physical contact with that Bouganite earlier because he had a psychic field, but **this** is how you form a telepathic bond with humans, isn't it?"_

I've done it before, that much is true, but never at anyone's request - usually it's a last resort measure to be used on threats and only if there are no other viable options in the face of hostility. I've never much liked it because of this context, but in this regeneration I feel especially insecure about it - considering the level of intimacy that comes with this kind of interaction.

_"Clara, this is an immense invasion of privacy. You couldn't possibly want me to do that to you."_

_"Doctor, I trust you. Completely. I need you to know how I feel about you and this is the only way for me to show you."_

 

 

I gently brush back a stray strand of hair that has escaped her and settle my hands against her temples once more. Her skin is soft and warm and I hesitate for just the fraction of a second to capture this moment. Then I close my eyes. It's easier to establish a telepathic link if you shut out every unnecessary external sensation and focus entirely on the other person.

You can never quite predict what is going to happen at this stage. Every bond is unique and you can't ever be sure if a bond can even be established. With Clara however, it's unlike any bond I ever experienced. The connection practically forms on its own, her consciousness and mine interlacing effortlessly. Her familiarity with the TARDIS may have in some way enhanced her telepathic abilities. Or maybe it's just the fact that we're already incredibly close.

 

There are no more words now - communication through a telepathic link at this level is purely based on emotions, hunches and intuition. Clara asks me to step further, to move beyond this stage and extend the reach of the bond. I hesitate but she urges me on. It's like a wave of trust washing over me as she reaches out. And so, I cautiously motion on.

I'm being welcomed by warmth, affection, and an intricate combination of feelings too complex to describe in words. Everything I tried to convey to Clara - everything I _wanted to_ but _couldn't_ express within the limited confines of (any) language - is so easily imparted by her now. Whatever Clara Oswald sets out to do, she always accomplishes effortlessly. And just like in everything else, she manages to do it perfectly.

I'm enveloped and humbled by the love she shares with me. I don't realize it, but there are tears in my eyes. I could never have expected this level of unconditional trust and love from anyone. And I'd never dared to hope I might find it in my companion, the one person I could not possibly bear living without.

This connection goes far deeper than the usual, superficial, telepathic bond used to scan thoughts or intentions. This bond extends to our innermost subconscious cores. It's an inimitable attachment, a match beyond comparison. There is no more _Doctor_ or _Clara_ , no more _you_ and _me_ \- there is only _us._

 

_Inseparable._

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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